


your hand I held, bitter-sweet

by Huxian



Category: Persona 5, Persona 5 Royal, Persona Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, I promise you this fic is long but it DOES end happily, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, P5R Spoilers, PLEASE HEED TAGS, Persona 5 Spoilers, minor depictions of depression anxiety attacks and dissociation, unbeta'd-- we die like American democracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huxian/pseuds/Huxian
Summary: And it’s so fuckingfunny, Akira thinks, blinking past the sweat running in his eyes, feeling his throat dry at the ominous glow and heat coming fromCendrillon. It’s so funny that for all the talks of rehabilitation, of a mystical cat pushing him to form bonds, of him finding people towantto form bonds with, to fight by their sides and them by his against whatever injustice-- now in his last moments, he’s alone, alone with a manipulated girl and a possiblyfuckingfake dream Akechi in this cognitive world. He’s going to die here, no team to watch his back, no one to bring him to life with a samarecarm, no one familiar and loved to stand by him.Did anything he fought for evenmatter?(It does, it does matter, willalwaysmatter-- his team will make sure of it, and Ryuji will always be his reminder so he doesn't lose his way)
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 36
Kudos: 177





	your hand I held, bitter-sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nuuneyraegon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuuneyraegon/gifts).



> Me: I'm going to give the gays everything they want.  
> it's me. I'm the gay. I'm giving myself everything I want.
> 
> Please HEED THE TAGS, there are extremely heavy p5r spoilers that I've compiled from the persona wikis, tumblr, and my own adhd brain struggling to make sense of everything. Not everything will be accurate (if at all) to the Persona 5 Royal plot. This IS fanfiction after all, and I'm just a dreamer. This is extremely self-indulgent, so please, don't take this too seriously lmao
> 
> Please let me know if there are any tags I need to add. Thank you, and enjoy!
> 
> This is for you, Rae, for putting up with my bs and 3 AM ramblings. I owe you my allegiance. And my writing.

He should be happy. 

All Akira wants is for his friends, his _family_ , to be happy. They were his teammates, his friends that joined his side to fight against injustice, society, the _world_. They saw him and felt camaraderie in his struggles-- cared for him just as much as he cared about him.

He’d die for them, if they’d ask.

But they don’t, and he gets a chance to give them something better: their wishes.

And it was good. It was amazing, seeing how happy Futaba and Sojiro looked with Isshiki Wakaba alive by their side. It was heartwarming to see Yusuke and Haru smiling with their fathers, good and uncorrupted and loving of their children, and Makoto and Sae happy as actual sisters with a father to uphold the house. It ached something warm seeing Ann with a healthy Shiho, the two girls giggling and gazing at each other. Even Morgana’s wish, however odd, was cute, in the way he bent over backwards just to make Ann happy.

They were happy. So he should be happy.

Should be.

He watches as the track team passes by, talking loudly, and laughing louder. Watches as one of the boys-- Takeishi? Nakaoka? Whoever-- slings an arm around Ryuji’s shoulders. Watches as his best friend-- _no, not best friend, not anymore in this world_ , his brain whispers-- turns to grin back at his teammate, face bright, smile wide. 

Akira watches Ryuji, and Ryuji… doesn’t look back.

He walks away, and Akira watches him walk away.

And it’s different. Something in him cries out, furious, enraged-- that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

_“Heh, don’t worry, man. There’s a place here for you too. Right next to me… or maybe ahead? Something like that.”_

Sure, he never said anything clearly back, but… Ryuji had to have known that Akira agreed with his sentiment, right? That their places were by each other’s sides. That that’s where they belonged.

But...that only works in the world where Ryuji had lost everything: his leg, his reputation, his scholarship opportunity. His future.

Now, here in this new wish fulfillment world, he’s not crippled. He’s back as the star of the track team. He’s not ostracized. He’s happy. He’s got everything he wanted.

Was there really any room for Akira by his side, in a world without pain?

For once, ever since his arrest, Akira has never felt more alone. A fact made more noticeable now that Morgana was no longer a cat in his bag. It’s just him.

Akira clenches a fist, closes his eyes, just for a second. A second to breathe, to get a grasp on something, _anything_. He opens his eyes, and begins to make his way through the city.

He wants his friends happy more than anything. Wants them safe, and sound, and have everything they dreamed of to come true. And maybe, just maybe him not being a focal point in their lives as they are to him is a small price he’s willing to pay.

***

“How did you get here,” were Akira’s first words, and Akechi merely stares back, expression neutral. “I thought you turned yourself in.”

“I did,” Akechi agrees, but a dark shift crosses his face. “I was released for no reason.” He fixes a look on Akira. “You sensed it too, right? The world’s strange now.”

Akira can only nod, because he saw that strangeness for himself, experienced it firsthand.

“Are you just going to accept it?” Akechi’s voice is curious, measuring, lips curled in a way that looks patronizing, yet the quirk of his brow lessens the blow, non-judgmental. 

Akira thinks back on his friends, on Futaba with her mother, Yusuke, Haru, and Makoto with their family intact, Ann with her best friend, Morgana living his best dream.

He thinks about Ryuji, not in pain, smiling unreservedly without a hint of razor-edge sharpness, like the world was at his fingertips instead of it being the other way around.

He thinks about Ann’s cold allowance in Kamoshida living and the justice dispensed, thinks about Yusuke finding his own path on his own feet, thinks about Makoto’s courage in facing her sister, thinks about Haru’s strength in finding her own rebellion, thinks about Futaba coming out of her shell and wanting to live, thinks about Morgana finding hope in himself to continue in his form.

Thinks about the long nights watching Naruto and playing games, the hot days of running and working out, the smiles Ryuji gives him over monjayaki, warm, eyes crinkled, the laugh lines small but there and _real_.

Akira feels his hands clench.

“No,” he says. “We should look into this.”

Akechi smiles, and it’s a pleased, calculating thing, more sharp than civil. “I thought that’s what you’d say.” He reaches to adjust his sleeves. “Looks like we have a mystery on our hands.”

A laugh bursts out of Akira, shocking even him because it felt like _decades_ since he last felt anything that resembled joy. 

“What are you,” Akira tries to control his tone, mind flashbacking to the nights when the thieves huddled in his attic space, watching western cartoons and complaining about the graphics quality on his shitty TV, “someone from Scooby-Doo?”

Akechi stares at him. “What the fuck is a Scooby-Doo?”

***

He’s teamed up with Akechi and Kasumi-- no, fuck, _Sumire_ now, facing against Maruki Takuto of all fucking people-- god, couldn’t they have _one_ decent adult figure in their lives that was a professional _and_ wanted to help?

“You have a week to awaken your teammates,” Maruki smiles, waving away his persona minion to carry Sumire as Akira tries to stumble after her. “Choose wisely, Kurusu-san.”

He disappears further in the palace, and Akira and Akechi are forced to leave, bruised and wary.

Akechi nods to him, and the two agree to meet at Odaiba by the end of the week, them separating right after for the day.

Akira’s mind races, thinking on Maruki’s words. Awaken his teammates…? It sounds easy in theory, but… it would mean waking them from their wishes. Having them lose their loved ones to reality again. Having to face the pain all over without reprieve of a dream.

He’s beginning to understand the depth of Kasu--fuck _, Sumire_ ’s choice, her fear and grief so strong, it had her wish to _become_ her sister, instead of facing the truth. It was so much easier to run.

But Akira has never been one to look away, to run from the situation-- a trait that would later cost him everything he knew, the town he lived in, the parents and friends and peers he cared about. All of that went down the drain. But what can he say-- he’s been the rebellious type since the start.

He takes in that determination now, the almost careless regard of self to do what was _right_ \-- the same feeling he had when protecting the woman from Shido, from awakening to Arsene, to saving Ryuji and later, their teammates, from _being_ his true self.

He walks forward.

And it’s excruciating. Every day, he visits one teammate to break their illusion with truth, watches them slowly become aware, unsure, confused, and certainly unhappy-- it was painful. Heartbreaking. They still haven’t fully awakened, and there’s a chance that they might not, but. Just watching them struggle now was enough for Akira to want to stop, want to beg for forgiveness and erase all the hurt away, shove it all under the rug, let Maruki put him in eternal sleep because it’d be easier.

He thinks of Sumire, traumatized and suffering, still in Maruki’s clutches, and forces himself to keep going.

The last teammate before Morgana is Ryuji, and his best friend just looks at him, no true recognition in his eyes, no familiar sparkle, no ear-splitting grin meant just for _him_. Just a polite, vague smile that soon turns into a frown at Akira’s words. 

Akira leaves that interaction feeling bile rise in his throat, uncertainty welling up even more.

Was awakening them the right choice? It looks like he was causing more pain by telling the truth. He thinks about Sumire literally collapsing within the palace, haunted by her own truths, and shudders.

Akira rounds the corner but stops, choosing to peer back, the same instinct that used to alert him to Ryuji’s presence lighting up in his head. Ryuji doesn’t see him, was still facing the school gate. He takes in the stiff way the blond stands, eyes blank, mouth curved in a thin line, shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was on him, fists clenched.

It was a stark difference from the him of earlier: genuinely loose-limbed without the slight limp, eyes soft and open, mood content, mouth gentle. Someone with a future full of bright opportunities and success.

This him Akira sees now is the him in the other world without dreams, without rest from chronic pain or ill-will. The him that sees Akira as someone worth staying next to for. 

He thinks about Maruki’s offer. Thinks about the consequences of either choices.

He goes to Odaiba.

“Let’s go,” he says to Akechi, and the other boy nods, something feral gleaming in his eye.

Akira takes note of the the almost untethered way Akechi carries himself, takes in the brutal rawness the other boy exudes, different to his ego before the boiler room, but more controlled than his rage. Akechi notices his stare and smirks back, and the gesture is familiar but it’s...

Akira takes a breath and moves on.

***

“Will you accept my deal?” Maruki asks again, and Akira doesn’t know exactly why he refuses, but now they’re fighting for their lives.

Maruki had forced Sumire’s hand, using her distorted denials to unleash _Cendrillon_ on them, wild and fierce and in _pain_. Akechi had opted out of the battle, citing his combat instincts being too dangerous if used on her, and Akira had accepted the challenge to fight on his own. 

It had been easy. Kasumi- _Sumire_ had only started fighting recently, she didn’t have the edge that Akira developed over the months in the metaverse, and therefore, went down after a few blows.

Akira just didn’t count on Maruki stepping in and summoning electrical cables to cause her to go _berserk_ . He alone was no match, and neither was Akechi, combat lethality be damned. They were barely hanging on as is before berserker _Cendrillon_ summoned _Biyarky_ to absorb, further maintaining its health and defenses.

They’re on their last legs, and Akira watches as Akechi goes down to a knee, cursing loud and vulgar, the rage and bitter helplessness emanating off of him thick as blood. 

_Cendrillon_ charges, and the tingle running down his neck to spine tells him that this attack alone is enough to wipe them both out permanently. It’s just him and Akechi, criminal and detective, leader and liar, facing against a 15-year old girl with grief strong enough to consume _everything_. 

And it’s so fucking _funny_ , Akira thinks, blinking past the sweat running in his eyes, feeling his throat dry at the ominous glow and heat coming from Sumire’s berserk persona. It’s so funny that for all the talks of rehabilitation, of a mystical cat pushing him to form bonds, of him finding people to _want_ to form bonds with, to fight by their sides and them by his against whatever injustice-- now in his last moments, he’s _alone_ , alone with a manipulated girl and a possibly _fucking_ fake dream Akechi in this cognitive world. He’s going to die here, no team to watch his back, no one to bring him to life with a _samarecarm_ , no one familiar and loved to stand by him.

Did anything he fought for even _matter_?

Because if he disappears here, his friends, his _family_ will still dream on, trapped but _happy_ , and maybe he should’ve taken up Maruki’s offer, should’ve taken that safe wish over this reality of pain and hopelessness. But it’s too late, and now he’s going to face the music.

 _Cendrillon_ charges up and Akira slumps, knife still gripped hard in hand because for all his bitterness, the flame of rebellion is still stronger, no matter how beaten and small. He waits for the end, knowing its inevitability and wishing savagely that he had said _yes_ to Maruki’s offer.

Sumire’s persona lets loose a shriek and her charge, and he waits for the blow, both him and Akechi raising their arms in a pathetic display of defense.

The noise of running pounds the ground, and something-- no, _someone_ passes by Akira, and his eyes are closed but he knows, he _knows_ that smell of crackling ozone and sun rays, _knows_ the footsteps hitting earth with the speed of lightning, _knows_ that presence then, now, to the end of the _world_.

A flash of light emits, blinding even behind closed eyes, but the moment it subsides, he opens to see familiar gold.

“Sorry for being late,” Ryuji greets, back to them and arms crossed in front of his face, blocking _Cendrillon_ ’s electrical attack. He drops his limbs, static making his hair stand up, little sparks leaping from his body like fireflies as he finally turns around. Akira’s breath catches, taking in the _familiarity_ now shown in his _best friend_ ’s eyes reflecting back. Ryuji’s gaze is blazing, but his grin, sharp-toothed and wide and crooked, is home. “We’re here now.”

Multiple hands reach out, gently touching his shoulders, and Akira starts, shifting to look at the rest of the team grinning back.

“We’re here,” Ryuji repeats, holding out a familiar hand. He doesn’t hesitate to take it _._

***

Sumire is relinquished as a token of goodwill, a fighting chance for them, and the team files out of the palace, Maruki’s " _30 days to take my heart, Phantom Thieves_ ” echoing in their ears. A challenge, a threat, a promise.

They’re exhausted, dinged up to hell and back despite the team's healing powers. For all his earlier bluster and feral snarling during the two’s palace invasion, Akechi is now a silent shadow, and Akira notices how he adamantly gravitates _away_ from Haru and Futaba. The two girls keep their distance as well, but he doesn’t miss the slight glances coming from them towards Akechi every now and then. Ann carries Morgana, indulging in his pouts as he yowls about carrying the team in the Monamobile by himself _and c’mon Lady Ann, I deserve at least a head pat, right?_ Yusuke and Makoto lightly fuss over Akira, tutting at a rip in his jacket, or a minor bruise missed by Makoto’s healing. But his focus, no matter how much he misses and loves and relishes in his team’s presence, isn't completely focused on them.

Ryuji doesn’t look at him, or even come close to his side.

It’s uncharacteristic. Jarring. And even though it’s been days since the dream world was created, to Akira it feels like it’s been a _lifetime_ since he was near Ryuji, memories and fighting spirit restored, familiar as muscle memory, as fighting instinct. Familiar as a bond cultivated by time and battles and sheer enjoyment spent _together_.

And Ryuji stays away, facing forward resolutely, no matter how much Akira tries to catch his eye. Akira notices Ryuji’s slightly uneven walk, sees the limp apparent once again, and the weight in his stomach grows.

They drop off Sumire at her family home and disband for the day, agreeing to meet up the next to figure out their situation.

Morgana’s at his side, weaving between his legs and chattering on what he’s craving to eat, but Akira’s eyes are only on Ryuji’s receding back.

 _Not again_ , is the thought that flashes, and his mouth is moving before his brain can fully catch up.

“Ryuji.”

The boy in mention stops, back still before he turns, face angled towards Akira.

Akira’s the one that called out to him, but he’s at a complete loss, unsure of what to say. “I…”

Ryuji waits, and when nothing else comes out, he shrugs. “You’re tired, dude,” he says, smiling, but the gesture was, for the first time since knowing each other, unreadable to Akira. “Go home.”

“But--” Akira struggles to verbalize, but Ryuji holds up a hand, stopping him.

“I don’t think I can talk to you right now anyway,” Ryuji tells him, and the honesty again hits Akira as all the other times before. The difference this time though, is the pure ambiguous nature of his statement that leaves Akira reeling, leaves him feeling some form of desperation bubbling up in his throat, lava-slow.

“Ryuji--” he tries again, but his friend just fixes him a look that silences his tongue.

“Go home, Akira,” Ryuji says kindly, a mercy before the killing. “I’ll see you later, I promise.”

And all Akira can do is accept that promise as Ryuji walks away again.

***

“You wanna hang out today?”

Akira just stares, because it’s Ryuji that’s come forward, that asked, that’s looking at him straight on. It was an odd reversal. Usually, it’s his friends that question _him_ on wanting to hang out during a mission period. “What about Maruki?” He tries, but Ryuji shakes his head, expression wry.

“We’ve been at it for a week, dude,” he points out. “You’re exhausted, and we still have the rest of the 30 days left. Besides,” Ryuji looks away at this point, face indecipherable as he kicks at the ground. “I… really think we need to talk.”

Akira feels his mouth dry at Ryuji’s words, but nods, jerky. His hands shake a little, and he clenches them to hide the tremors. “Okay.”

The team had regrouped the next day after retrieving Sumire, and the following week consisted of exploring Maruki’s palace, facing quizzes, shadows, pieces of Maruki’s past, and Sumire’s true persona awakening where she accepted herself to move forward.

In the process of all of that occurring, Akira learns that while he and Akechi had advanced through the palace on their own after his awakening attempt with his friends, still in a dream state, the team found themselves regrouped in Leblanc. 

Ann doesn’t remember too many of the details as they had rushed to go after him, but she had zeroed in on Akira, placing serious emphasis on Ryuji’s role in everyone waking, that shattered the illusion and freed them from the lie. 

Akira looks up when Ryuji suddenly stops, now noticing the unfamiliar area around him.

“This is my mom’s apartment complex,” Ryuji offers casually before entering a stairwell, steps echoing off the walls. Akira hesitates, but soon follows, keeping his eyes glued to Ryuji’s back. 

They reach door 205 and Ryuji smiles. “Ma was happy as hell when we got this apartment,” he explains at Akira’s questioning glance. “After the... divorce... we were on our own, you know? She thought it was a sign of good luck when we got this apartment, since 2 + 5 equals 7, and that’s a lucky number. ' _To_ _getherness_ ’, right? And well, we definitely needed that luck.” He takes out a key and soon, the door is open. “Watch your step,” he says, stepping through and sliding his shoes off to place on the shoe rack. “You can take a seat by the kotatsu while I get us drinks.”

Akira murmurs his assent, mimicking Ryuji’s movement, and soon finds himself settled in the living room as Ryuji putters around in the small kitchen. 

The apartment was neat and orderly. It was a small space, but the lack of clutter and the window streaming in warm sunlight offered a freedom that felt satisfying. He looks to the walls and sees pictures of Ryuji, then and now, dark-haired and blond, smiling his crinkle-eyed grin. A woman in several of the pictures, small, dark hair in a loose bun, shared the same smile with similar laugh lines; in some she poses alone, in others she’s huddled up to Ryuji, in all she’s sweet, eyes laughing (Akira thinks on the saying of how sons take after their mothers, thinks how true it is for this family). A small shelf in the corner next to the TV stand showcased a variety of medals and awards, and Akira knew without having to check that they were running awards, proof of Ryuji’s accomplishments.

A cup of tea places in front of him, and Akira starts, taking in the steam rising from the cup.

“Mom’s a tea drinker, not a coffee drinker,” Ryuji says, flopping himself down on the floor across from Akira. “Besides, as if you’d drink any coffee that wasn’t made by your hands.”

“I’d drink coffee if you made it,” Akira tries to protest, but Ryuji just eyeballs him. “...Sojiro spoiled me with his specific coffee beans and skills. It’s not my fault.”

Ryuji laughs at that, and something tense unfurls a bit inside Akira at the familiar sound, his whole heart relaxing.

They sit quietly. Akira takes a polite sip of tea, finds it warm and soothing on the tongue. Silence continues, and Akira begins to feel uncomfortable, watching Ryuji watch the kotatsu, feeling caged, anticipatory. Before he can break the silence, Ryuji speaks.

“I was pissed at you.”

Akira freezes.

Ryuji looks up, fixes him a stare, and the gaze is conflicted but steadfast. “I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you for a bit,” he goes on, “But… look, man, I’m not smart. Not like you or the others. Usually I shoot my mouth first before thinking later, but… it was you. And you didn’t deserve that. I had to think.

“Why didn’t you wake us up from the beginning?”

Akira’s throat is dry, tea forgotten. “I…” he fights for words. “It was confusing for me, too.”

Ryuji nods. “I get that, yeah. But I’m talking about the days after you woke up. You and Akechi were the only ones that knew the truth. And… you went alone while the team and me… were stuck in a lie." Ryuji’s eyes were big and dark, and it seemed like he was flaying Akira apart with his gaze. “Do you not trust us?”

“No!” Akira blurts, but backtracks. “I mean, yes-- no! I-- I just.” This is why he keeps quiet, he wasn’t good at this shit, not like Ryuji or the others, didn’t talk the same way, wasn’t open like them. “It was just…”

“Was just…?” Ryuji presses, and Akira deflates. “You were happy,” he finally says, whispers, and Akira averts his eyes, unable to face Ryuji’s earnestness. “You guys were happy. Yusuke and Haru had fathers that were _good_ , that loved them without the pain. Makoto had her sister as a _sister_ back. Futaba and Sojiro were so-- _whole_ , with Futaba’s mother alive. Shiho was _healthy_ and that was everything to Ann. Morgana’s dream of being an actual human was real now, and you...you had everything you wanted.” He closes his eyes, feeling everything well up like a tidal wave. “How can I get in the way of that? It wouldn’t have been fair to you guys.”

Ryuji makes a considering noise. “So,” he says slowly, thoughtful, “you just… decided to make that choice for us, huh.”

Akira’s head shoots up as he feels his jaw drop. “Wha--”

“That’s what I was so pissed about,” Ryuji goes on, and Akira shuts up to listen. “I just. I know we chose you as leader. You’re smart, and reliable, and cool-headed, and we _needed_ that. You were the right choice. But sometimes… I wonder if that was a mistake.”

The breath leaves his body and Akira reels, and whatever Ryuji sees on his face, he rushes to add.

“No, no, not that you were a mistake or anything,” he says, desperate, eyes alight. “I mean it in...we put all that responsibility on you.”

“I’m fine with it,” Akira interjects and Ryuji glares.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he replies, dry. “I’ve been… talking with Akechi.” Akira had to give him an incredulous look here, and Ryuji rolls his eyes but moves on. “The days you two were together with Sumire, he tells me that… Maruki kept trying to make a deal with you. About keeping this dreamworld. And how you seriously thought about it. And it’s just, Akechi and Sumire would’ve let you called the shots, even when they knew the truth-- they trust you, and I do, too, but I’m just _so pissed_ , man.

“You were the only one facing this alone, deciding for all of us, and I _hate_ that-- I trust you, you know I do, but I hate that you care about us so much, you’re willing to make the stupidest choices just to keep us happy and alive. And I’m just--” Ryuji runs frustrated hands through his hair, messing up blond spikes, and the look of pure _anguish_ on his face keeps Akira still. 

“I’m pissed at you, but I’m more pissed at _myself_.”

Time freezes. Akira stops breathing.

“I’m pissed at myself, because...because seriously? I _wanted_ that dream? That lie?” He shakes his head. “I betrayed myself, but more importantly, it’s like I betrayed _you_ , dude. And I can’t forgive that, can’t forgive myself.”

“You didn’t betray me--” 

Ryuji shakes his head again. “It felt like I did,” he says, soft, mouth curled in misery. He stops, takes a sip from his cup of tea. Breathes. Continues. “I’ve been with you since the beginning of all of this. And you… were always there for me. And yeah, I wanted to do well in track. I wanted that athletic scholarship so that it’d make things easier on my mom. I _did_ want that future. But that ain’t me anymore. It can’t be.”

“Yes it can,” Akira tries, desperate hysteria rising up. “You could’ve. You _were_ happy, Ryuji. Kamoshida never happened, you were back with the track team, you were the track star again, and you weren’t fucking _crippled_.” The last word is spat, making Ryuji flinch back, hurt crossing his face, but Akira’s on a roll, was feeling everything closing in, and he didn’t want to _care_ but he _did_ and that’s what always fucked him up in the end. “And what about the others? Are you saying that Yusuke, Haru, Futaba, even Makoto-- they deserved losing a parent? Being orphaned? You think what happened to Suzui-san was right? You think Akechi should’ve died?”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Ryuji snaps, but all Akira can feel is the helpless, caged feeling that maybe he was _wrong_ \-- what was he fighting so hard for if it just made his best friend unhappy?

“You’re angry that I made a choice for you guys that could’ve given you everything you wanted, and you think me being the leader and caring about you guys is bad-- I don’t know, Ryuji, what _are_ you trying to say?”

 _“I’m trying to ask you what you want, you effing asshole!”_ Ryuji roars, and any fury or panic that had consumed Akira dissipates immediately.

“I…” Akira struggles. “Want… you guys happy. That’s what I want.”

“And that means we don’t see you anymore?” Ryuji challenges, and Akira has to look away. “Yeah. All that happy dreaming, and where were _you_? Off doing things _alone_ , and shouldering everything by yourself when all of this is bigger than we are. I just. Akira, I barely remembered _you_ , I forgot about you. How the hell could I do that?”

“You were happy,” Akira whispers, tries again, and Ryuji snarls.

“I don’t want that happiness if it means losing you,” he says staunchly. “And I’m sure the others will agree with me. It’s just… I forgot about you. I forgot about everything we did together. I forgot all the important shit, all the important moments, and fights, and lessons-- and for what? Even when I was with the track team, with Nakaoka and Takeishi, with everyone actually liking _me_ , and thinking better of me-- something in my heart wondered, ‘is this it? Is this all there is to life?’ It felt so empty, so freaking _empty_ , even when I was supposed to be the happiest guy in the world.

“And yeah, you’re right. We didn’t deserve half the shit that happened to us-- but it did. It did, Akira, and nothing is going to erase that. None of us wanted it to happen, and I know you sure as hell didn’t either-- but you. You were _there_ with us. You fought for us. You helped us. You _cared_ about us. And that was… that was everything. I just… all that suffering, everything we all went through… it was hard. It hurt, but it proved that we were able to overcome it. That’s why… that’s why I prefer the original reality. The hard reality, the one I overcame with you, that’s _my_ place.”

Akira can’t speak, can’t do anything except sit there, feeling his vision blur, watching the tears well up in Ryuji’s determined and fucking _earnest_ eyes, but not falling.

Ryuji has always been the stronger one. He understands now what Ann had meant in Ryuji’s role for helping to shatter the illusion.

“Akira,” Ryuji says, and the way his mouth shapes around his name, the tone, the pitch of his voice, the softness of his eyes, says a thousand words. “Akira, what do _you_ want?”

And Akira thinks. He thinks on his feelings when he saw his friends trapped in the dreamworld, happy and unaware, forgetting him, thinks about how, despite his wish, he still went after Maruki, still fought, still declined the deal. Thinks about Sumire’s identity crisis, and how she desperately wanted to kill that part of herself just to keep a piece of her sister. Thinks about how the Akechi now might be a _fake_ , might be part of the dreamscape. Thinks about how utterly _alone_ he was.

He wants so _much_.

“I want to be with you guys,” he says, stumbles, words tripping and messy, but _real_. “I want to be with you guys. I want us to be together. I want to fight by your side, and you by mine. I want a reality where we’re all _together_.”

Ryuji reaches over, hand trailing across the kotatsu before it reaches Akira’s hand, light touch before it firms. Grounding. Real. Together.

“Then let’s fight for that reality,” Ryuji says, vows, and that’s when the tears fall from them both. Ryuji’s eyes widen at the display, even when the bastard’s crying himself, god _damn_. “Oh, oh shit, I mean-- _shit!_ Don’t cry! Uh,” he flings himself back, and gets up to-- do squats? “Watch! I’m not going to stop until you feel better, dude!”

Akira just takes in the situation: they’re still in the middle of exploring Maruki’s palace, still have a shit ton of problems to face, but here they are, tears running down both their faces while Ryuji does fucking _squats_ to make him feel better somehow. It’s no wonder that Akira _loses_ it.

“You-- are-- a menace,” Akira hacks out through the laughter, feeling _pain_ at using unused laughing muscles, but it felt _amazing_. “God, you have a literal snot bubble coming out of your nose, and your squats are what’s going to make me feel better?”

“Screw you!” Ryuji cries. “I do _not_ have a snot bubble.” He doesn’t help his case by wiping his nose with a forearm, and Akira laughs harder. Ryuji tries to glare, pouting, but ultimately follows pursuit, sitting back to laugh.

Eventually, the laughter dies down, and they’re watching each other, grinning. Akira takes in the way Ryuji’s eyes crinkle a bit, takes in the curl of his lips, sharp-toothed, crooked-- nothing like the soft smoothness that the dream world had on him-- but this was _better_ , it was all him, all Ryuji-- and it was a smile meant for _Akira_. 

A smile that promises him the sun, the future, something _real_. And he wasn’t sure what it _meant_ , but he stares back, heart a tribal drum, knowing something has changed, something will change, and he’s not alone anymore in willing for that change.

For the first time since waking up in the dreamworld, Akira lets himself _want_ , and it’s terrifying. It’s freeing.

He wants his best friend by his side, wants to be with the team with Akechi alive to face the music together. Wants to come home to LeBlanc and see Sojiro and his curry and coffee, wants to go to the beach again with his friends and goof around, wants to see the other adult confidants and learn more things, wants to thank Mishima for all the good he’s done, wants to watch one of Hifumi’s matches and cheer her on, wants to walk the streets of Tokyo and call it home-- and so much more. He wants so much, it was almost maddening, even when Ryuji and everyone else says it’s okay. Akira wants to lock everything up again, because it was easier, safer-- but it wasn’t _happier_ , it wasn’t better, it was lonely and silent and suffocating, and maybe it’s time he gets to _breathe._

Ryuji smiles and he’s unsure why that gesture was everything, but can’t deny wanting to see that smile forever.

“Akira…?” Ryuji frowns, taking notice of the silence. Akira tamps down the urge to laugh hysterically, or scream. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He coughs, struggling to think of something viable and true. “I was just...I’m sorry for calling you crippled.” He really was sorry but Ryuji merely laughs.

“If you haven’t noticed, I _am_ a cripple,” Ryuji points out, wry. He smiles. “But…once, that’s all I would’ve seen myself as, you know? Kamoshida really… that bastard really did take me out. Took away everything I knew, just because he was a shitty adult. And I believed his words, believed everyone’s words. Even my ma only saw me as a cripple. But…” He looks up from under his eyelashes, eyes warm, face soft, and Akira crumbles. “If it weren’t for you… I woulda blamed everyone else. Blamed myself. For seeing myself as just my leg. When the truth was, I was more than that. I’m me. I’m whole, bum leg and all. And no one can take that away from me.” He grins wide, looking so rumpled and playful, Akira wants to burn the image into his brain, a permanent mark. “Thanks, Akira. For being by my side. For helping me.” He nods, determined. Resolute.

“Now it’s my turn to help you.”

Something shifts, and a rumble reverberates throughout the atmosphere, deep and consuming. Akira and Ryuji watches, wide-eyed, as Ryuji’s persona-- personas-- _Captain Kidd_ and _Seiten Taisei_ appear. 

_William_ forms.

“Holy shit,” Ryuji breathes, hand reaching to touch his chest. “I feel… stronger.” He beams, looking proud and excited. “I can help you better now.”

 _You’ve always done the best you can_ , Akira wants to say, but his voice fails him as usual. He pushes himself to beam back, hopefully just as strongly, to have Ryuji _understand_. And maybe he does.

“Go see the others.” Ryuji is firm. “It’s going to be okay, Akira. We have your back. And it’s not a deal or whatever, okay? I know how you get. But you gotta learn that, we _want_ to be here, by your side, at the end of all things. We _want_ to. You don’t gotta give back, don’t gotta treat this as a deal, or a price.” His eyes are bright, soft. “Believe in us, please?”

And it’s hard, but Akira’s going to try his hardest to believe, if not for himself, not yet, then for them. For his friends. His family.

He was going to try.

***

He takes Ryuji’s words to heart, visits the others. And he wonders why he was so afraid, when his friends-- _his family_ \-- cares just as much as he cares for them. Wants to be by his side as much as he wants to be by theirs.

“Of course I wish better for Shiho, wish she didn’t go through all of that,” Ann tells him. Her eyes are full of fire, her jaw firms, and he remembers the time she held Kamoshida’s life in her hands. “But I’m not going to forget how much she fought to live. How she inspires me, how I want to be better and stronger to make her proud.” 

She smiles, and it’s dancing hellfire, wicked and bright and _her_. “Shiho has always been my reason. That isn’t going to change anytime soon. Akira, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have known where to start. So this time, it’s my turn to help you.”

 _Celestine_ appears.

“I wish Madarame had been a better person. A good father. I wish he hadn’t been corrupted.” Yusuke holds onto his art supplies, smile wry in the room’s light. He remembers the moment the veneer was ripped away, when Yusuke _clawed_ the earth to bloody ribbons, just to wake up. “But that’s not the case. And I have to move on. 

“Besides,” and his eyes shift, a deep sadness mixed with hope, a color waiting to be painted, dangerous and life-saving. “If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have found myself to be my own person. I would’ve stayed in the shadows at someone else’s whims, dependent on their directions, and I don’t wish to be that person anymore. Now, I wish to help guide you as you did me.”

 _Gorokichi_.

“My sister didn’t deserve to have to take on so much, and we didn’t deserve to be left behind,” Makoto says, the tone of her voice a gravitational pull that has Akira shifting in her direction. “But my father is dead, and Nee-san took on the mantle.” 

Her eyes sharpen, mouth turn in a way that highlights her intensity, and he thinks on the moment she stood against Kaneshiro, pure intimidation, thinks on her holding the secret of Sae’s palace alone, cold compartmentalization for the greater good. “Were it not for you and the others, my sister would’ve continued down her corrupted path, and I would’ve stayed spineless in the face of injustice forever. Now, it’s my turn to pursue the thieves’ justice.”

 _Agnes_.

“I wish my mom was alive,” Futaba says, hunched in her seat, creepy mask fixed to her head. “I wish she could see how far I’ve come, could laugh with me and Sojiro. Wish we could all eat curry together. But...she’s not.” 

She takes the mask off, and the expression facing him reminds him of the moment she helped manifest the crossbow to take down Wakaba’s cognitive form, illuminated and focused. “It’s not okay, but… I have Sojiro. I have you. I have the others. To help me and be there for me. And I… now I want to be here. For my family. For the ones that are seeing how far I’m going now, and for helping me want to live again.”

 _Al Azif_.

“I started out wanting to be human. Did everything to try to find a way.” Morgana lazily paws at a stray thread on the sheets, tail moving slow. “I wanted to justify my existence. I wanted to mean something to someone. Like humans do to each other. I… wanted so badly to belong.” 

Morgana turns, all feline grace, sharp carnivore smile, and Akira thinks on the moment when Morgana stepped up to guide him, showing him how to use his persona, how to navigate the metaverse, how he’s still there to guide him. “Turns out, I already had a place to belong. With you idiots.” He sighs, but pads forward to nudge against Akira’s side. “And since you’re _my_ idiot, I guess I have to stick around and help, right?”

 _Diego_.

“I wanted to give my father a chance to be better than he was.” Haru’s hands are firm in the dirt, fingers curling and shifting around to loosen earth. “Unfortunately, that choice was torn from me, and chance taken from him. The dream we were under...was a glimpse into a world where that chance was given and utilized, given room to see the ‘what if’.” 

She rips up the dead plants, dirt free-falling from the roots, and he takes in this visage of a modern day Persephone, one foot in death and the other in life, remembers the moment she fully awakened to her own rebellion and duality, of wanting better for others _and_ be selfish for herself. “You know, maybe that’s the point, Akira-kun. We can’t save the world, and we can’t save everyone. But…” She looks at him, eyes soft, eyes sad, but mouth curled in iron, deadly and sharp and prepared. “We can give them a chance. A chance for them to use how they seem fit. Like the chance you and the others gave me, and Akira-kun, I want to give you that same chance.”

 _Lucy_.

“I loved my sister, even when everything in me was so _jealous_ of her.” Sumire fiddles with her shirt, eyes askance, a stark difference from her other ego. This form of her was small and not as flashy, but no less strong, no less enduring. “And I couldn’t face myself when she died saving me. I blamed myself, and… I still do. Maybe if I had been better, realized sooner that Kasumi loved me more than my own perception of her patronizing me-- things would be different. But they’re not. And Maruki-san’s deal, his _lie_ , was too good for me to not accept. I didn’t want to let her go-- I should’ve been the one to die instead.” 

Sumire looks up now, facing him head on-- and for all her talks of being inferior to her sister, he sees the ego she tried to suppress shining brightly like diamond, proving once and for all that her truth, her real self, was deserving to _exist_. “But shoulds are only what-ifs. My sister saved me because she loved me. And after listening to your teammates...how they were so determined to help you that they were willing to shatter their illusions... Instead of running away to live their happiest lie, they choose to face their pain again for the reality they worked so hard for… and I want to be as strong as them, as you. I want to face my sadness and overcome it as myself, Yoshizawa Sumire.”

 _Ella_.

They explore the palace, and come February 2nd, the day before Maruki’s deadline-- _Rumi’s_ birthday-- Akira sends the calling card. It’s just him and Akechi, standing in front of the palace, silent.

“I’ve been speaking with Sakamoto and the others recently,” Akechi casually broaches, and Akira’s head whips up. He wonders when exactly Akechi had started to mix with the group, wonders if his team had gone out of their way to interact with the older boy in the days Akira had been figuring things out. Akechi looks _exhausted_ , an allowance that only Akira so far seems to be permitted to see, this small moment of human weakness. He doesn’t waste that privilege, choosing to carefully ask, “And?”

Akechi snorts. “You think I’m dead and that the me standing before you is just a dream that you wished up because of Maruki,” he says flatly, and Akira stiffens.

“Are you real then?” Akira asks, can’t help himself, because the cat’s out of the bag now, no use in tiptoeing around. Akechi looks away, expression hard and distant.

“I don’t fucking know.” He rakes a hand through his hair, carding through strands before falling limply at his side. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m alive, or if I really am just a wish. I feel… different. But…” Akechi frowns, looking uncomfortable yet he honestly answers, “It’s not bad.”

Against his will, Akira feels a noose of terror and anxiety close around his throat, and Akechi seems to sense it, turning to give him a look. His eyes are steady, simmering measurement and disapproval behind sharp brown.

“What’s your decision on this false reality?”

It’s not a demand, but a curious request.

“Is it wrong…” Akira finally says, tone low. “To want my friends be happy…? To be safe and… alive?”

Akechi considers him for a long minute, and Akira shifts under the stare, wary, unsure of how this version of the older boy will react. Cold pleasantries like in the past? Or feral rage in this world?

Instead, Akechi heaves a tired sigh, sounding beaten. "It's not wrong. If you choose Maruki's deal… I'll respect it. Even if I'll know the truth forever. I'll respect whatever path you decide to take." He looks away. "It was… different, though. These past few days. Maybe...fun. To… be this version of me with your team." Akechi meets his eyes again, and it's conflicted. "Makes me think that if you can have this life… with people having your back… then I can too, right? Just like you.

“Real, or not real, it doesn’t matter. Whoever you see before you, and whatever I feel right now, it’s _real_. And…” Akechi turns his head, lips shifted in a way that Akira now recognizes as grudging embarrassment. “You should have more faith in your team.”

“You’re a part of that team, too,” Akira points out, and Akechi gives him a glare. 

“I guess I fucking am,” he says darkly, before reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. “They are… too much. There’s so much shit we haven’t...haven’t even talked about, and I was willing to stay away. But… they’re annoying and persistent. Like you. Wouldn’t leave me alone. Even when it was for the best.” Akechi drops his hand, and despite his words, the almost fragile hope in his eyes tells the truth, and that destroys any doubt Akira held about Maruki’s offer. “If they want me by their side to fight, then… I’ll be there. So. Have faith in us, will you?”

Akira has his answer ready when Akechi asks the question again: “What’s your answer to Maruki’s deal?”

“ _No_.”

And the grin that Akechi gives him is still lethal, but the edges are softer, just a bit, unwavering in a way that gives _Akira_ hope in his decision, in the reality they’re fighting for, in the inevitable aftermath of everything.

“Good,” Akechi says.

 _Hereward_.

***

“Hey,” a voice speaks up from behind him, and Akira looks over to see Ryuji regarding him from behind the mask. Whatever Ryuji sees in return, he frowns. “Okay, yeah, c’mon.” He reaches out, movement intent and slow, and takes a hold of Akira’s sleeve. The touch is firm, but light enough for Akira to break away if he wants.

He allows the gesture and Ryuji tugs him along, the two’s departure garnering odd looks from the team. Ryuji waves away the concern before they round a corner, hiding them from view. 

Akira’s wondering what is going on when suddenly, Ryuji has a tight grip around his hands, and he’s saying, tone low, “Akira, man, breathe with me, okay? Just breathe.” And Akira looks down at their linked hands, saw the heavy tremors shaking them both-- and realizes with a rising horror that the shaking came from _him_.

“Dude, _breathe_ ,” Ryuji’s saying again, and Akira wants to snap, bare his teeth and dig in with the fervor of a trapped animal-- but his throat is closed up and all he can do is gasp uselessly, what’s left of his breaths loud and struggling through the haze, cold sweat running down the back of his neck. His vision swims.

“In, out, c’mon, counts of 5 with me, okay? 5...4...3…2...1...again. C’mon man, I know you can do it, with me. 5...4…”

Even if Akira can barely process the words, his instincts are stronger, latching onto the directions with his body following in pursuit. His mind slowly stabilizes with each count, chest steadying into regular breathing. Akira blinks and notices he’s sitting now, back against the wall with Ryuji kneeling in front, eyes earnest and worried behind the skull mask.

Ryuji’s hands are an anchor in the storm.

It’s the solid grip that causes the shame to well up, visceral as the rising tide, and Akira wants so bad to hide, because what the _fuck_ was all of this-- he was the _leader_ of the Phantom Thieves, but here he was, losing control over his own body like some _loser_ , and he wants to storm Maruki’s palace _now_ , wants to jump straight into battle so he doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to know that Ryuji saw all of this--

A small item is thrust into his face and that breaks Akira out of the whirlwind as he regards the-- chocolate bar?

“Eat it,” Ryuji says, offering the candy with an expectant look, and he must’ve realize that Akira was in no condition to actually _eat_ because he winces, backtracking, “No, I mean-- just hold a piece in your mouth, okay?” Hands let go of his to rip at the packaging, and Akira watches as Ryuji snaps a piece and brandishes it out to him. “It’s dark chocolate. I know you’re not much of a sweets guy. C’mon, just a piece. For me?”

It’s the request that has Akira lean forward, fumbling at the candy because it must really be telling that he’d do anything for his friends but not for himself, if he went by the pinched look in Ryuji’s eyes. He focuses on the candy instead, brings it to his mouth. At his best friend’s nod, Akira settles, the chocolate a reprieve, grounding him more to the earth with its flavor and smooth texture-- focusing.

Bitter and sweet.

“How did you know?” Akira finally asks past the candy, body calming but slow anger rising. Bitter.

Ryuji shrugs, understanding his open question more than Akira even did. “You went dark the moment we entered Maruki’s palace,” he explains, hands gesturing. “No light behind the mask. Usually you’d be fiddlin’ with your gloves if you’re nervous. This time? Nothing.”

“You watch me often?” Akira tries to tease, change the mood of the situation, even a little. His voice is raw, hoarse. 

Ryuji turns red at his comment though, color noticeable and endearing behind the mask. “Shut up!” he snaps, but his hands are soft as he breaks another piece for Akira to eat.

Bitter. Sweet.

“I used to get the shakes, too,” Ryuji says, tone casual despite the weight of the subject, and Akira pauses, chocolate melting in his mouth. Ryuji shrugs and kicks out his legs, distant. “That's what my mom calls it. She'd give me chocolate, too, to help. Happened a lot after Kamoshida broke my leg.” He snaps his fingers, the noise audible over the quiet, a point. “I was stuck in bed for a while. And then in a cast for another few months. Nearly went crazy, because you know, a star athlete who suddenly can’t move? Effing nuts.” He shakes his head, mouth wry. His voice gets quiet, and Akira shifts, just to listen, to _know_.

“I'd get stuck in my head-- thoughts racing when I physically couldn't. Never told my mom because… you know… it’s my shit to handle. Especially when she was doing so much for my sorry ass.” He laughs as Akira shoves him for the disparaging comment. “Okay, okay! But what I’m saying is… I tried to keep things inside, locked up safe-- but it finds a way out somehow. And the way it comes out, is the shakes. It starts with the pressure here.” He taps at his jaw, movement deliberate. “Mouth locks up, can’t talk. Then breathing gets hard. Then your body starts to lose it. Shaking without your say. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“...Yeah.”

“Well, it’s not.” Ryuji’s tone is blunt. He moves their hands, Akira loosening his grip so that Ryuji could maneuver them. His palm faces up, and Ryuji traces the lifeline behind the glove. Sweet.

“It’s not crazy, especially for troublemakers like us.” He grins at the monicker, and Akira can’t help but grin back, however slight the gesture. “We both have pretty shit history, you know? And… we never really got any help for it. Besides each other, and the team. I’d count Maruki, but look how that turned out. And with how fast everything’s been going this year… yeah. Makes sense that when shit gets going… you might not be able to catch up, take a breath. It happens. Doesn’t mean you’re crazy or whatever.”

“It feels like I am,” Akira mutters, watching his fingers curl. Red and yellow mesh together. “I’m the leader-- I’m supposed to. Handle things.”

“Again, I think making you leader was kinda a mistake.” There’s no vitriol to Ryuji’s words, only sadness. “Because it made you hold everything inside, alone.”

“Yeah, well, it still doesn’t change the fact that I ultimately call the shots, now does it.” Akira feels so tired. 

Ryuji hums, low. He moves, and Akira’s body weight shifts with the movement until he’s leaning against his friend. Even when Akira wants to fall, Ryuji won’t let him.

“Talk to me,” is all Ryuji says. “If you want. It’s just me.”

And Akira may have trust issues larger than Japan, but even he knew without a doubt that when he falls, when the strings are cut and he’s just a human being with broken limbs, Ryuji’s there to catch him. And he trusts that.

“What if I’m not strong enough?” Akira clenches his hand, and Ryuji’s yellow curls around his red. “What if Maruki offers his deal again, or, his persona-- his powers-- are stronger than us? Than mine? You saw how he put us _all_ in that dreamworld. What chance do we have against him?”

Ryuji’s silent, and Akira begins to regret spilling his guts, because this is embarrassing. They’re about to enter the biggest battle of their lives and he’s here freaking out about it?

“Punch him in the face.”

Akira reels back, mouth dropping in surprise at Ryuji’s matter-of-fact answer. “ _What?_ ” He’s incredulous. But Ryuji stares back just as firm, jaw squared, stubborn lightning in his eyes, just like every time they face off against a palace ruler. Resolute, determined, and kinda _nuts_.

“If he’s got us cornered, if your persona ain’t no match for his,” Ryuji says slowly, each word a gavel striking the judge’s block, “Then you punch him. In the face. With your fist. Like this!” He holds up his own yellow-gloved fist, as if that would make his point make _sense_.

“Are you serious?”

Ryuji nods. “Yep.” His lips popped obnoxiously on the _‘p’_ , and the sound makes Akira want to simultaneously shove him, or flick him on the nose. He does both, and Ryuji laughs, trying to block his attack. He sobers up though, expression becoming stern. “Remember the first time we met Kamoshida? In the palace?”

Akira stops, wondering at the direction of the conversation. “...what about it?”

“We didn’t have personas, and we still shoved and punched, man.” 

“Like that did us any good. It didn’t save us.”

“Maybe that’s the point, Akira,” Ryuji’s saying, eyes bright. “I’m not saying it saved us in the end, but. It gave us something. And you know, we don’t need everything. Sometimes...something, is enough. Right?”

Akira stares back, and the air’s charged, loaded between them, and for the first time since walking into the palace, he feels something like crazy _hope_ rise in him.

Maybe that’s what they need. Crazy. Crazy hope.

“You saw what he can do,” Akira whispers despite himself, still worried, still thinking and fixating. But he’s _planning_ now. He wants to keep listening to Ryuji, wants to hear all the crazy things because maybe, just maybe he needs that courage to keep _going_. 

Ryuji grins, and it’s crooked and sharp and unbelievably _good_. “And so what? We faced Kamoshida in all his pink speedo glory without personas. Faced against all the shitty adults, faced against a fake _god_. And you’re telling me this psychoanalyzing Freud dude is what takes the cake? Please.”

Akira has to laugh at the description. “Psychoanalyzing Freud?”

“Makoto’s been complaining to me,” Ryuji says primly. “Apparently, Maruki has a tentacle fetish that’s been simmering in his subconscious or whatever.”

Akira laughs harder at that, and Ryuji just sits, eyes crinkled in a way that showed he was really pleased. His laughter slows, and Akira’s breathing, taking in the comfortable silence. His hands flick out, batting at Ryuji’s playfully, and Ryuji grins wide at the gesture, and Akira _can’t stop looking._

And that moment is when everything _clicks_.

Akira’s breath catches and he stares because-- he wants to see that smile forever. He wants to be by Ryuji’s side, wants Ryuji to be by his. Wants to laugh like this again and again, wants to see the sun illuminate Ryuji’s face, here, elsewhere, everywhere. Wants to see the future with him. Wants to love him. Wants to be loved by him.

He’s in love with his best friend. And Akira _burns_.

“You know, you’re the reason,” Ryuji’s speaking now, and Akira starts, tries to be cool instead of showing Ryuji just how _altered_ his world became. “Oh?” his voice is strangled, but Ryuji doesn’t seem to notice. “Reason for?”

And Ryuji looks at him, expression earnest. Sweet. “If it weren’t for you talking to me, standing up for me, and asking me all those questions… I would’ve never awakened to my power to change myself. I wasn’t even afraid of dying… and that’s stupid. I had so much more going for me than dying in some lame guy’s palace. I just…” His voice shakes, just a little. “Meeting you, being in that jail cell, trying to fistfight those guards, being by your side-- maybe that’s just something to you, but that was everything to _me_. And I’m not going to forget that, ever. I don’t want you to forget yourself, too. You saved me, man.”

“You saved me first.” Akira’s quick to say, adamant. Ryuji just grins back.

“We save each other,” he corrects, and they’re both smiling, unable to tear their eyes away from one another. Ryuji continues, and Akira can hear literal _sparks_ in his voice. “That’s who we are, Akira. We save, and we fight, and we don’t stop, even when everything’s gone to shit, even when the whole world’s against us, when we’re on our last legs, struggling. We fight. Even if it’s not everything, it’s something. That’s all there is to it.”

It’s funny how things that had felt so large and terrifying...could be reduced just by simple words. No, Akira thinks, it’s just Ryuji’s special brand of magic-- the core of him shining through. He’s unable to handle Ryuji’s words directly but pushing himself to listen, to accept it slowly, because maybe, maybe he deserves that reminder-- to remember not what he is, not what the circumstances has made him out to be but _who_ he is: someone who protects. That’s _Akira_ , that's _his_ core. And Ryuji’s there to remind him of that fact, so he doesn’t lose his way.

Ryuji shuffles, getting to his feet. He turns, holding out a hand, expectant. “Ready to kick ass?”

And things aren’t over, they still have a battle to fight, still have to deal with Maruki, deal with the fallout and who knows what comes next. Bitter.

But he’s not alone. He’s got his team, he’s got Ryuji by his side, he has Sojiro and everyone else waiting outside the dream. He has _himself_ , and he’s not losing sight of who he is again.

Power rushes through him like fire, and distantly, he can hear _Arsene’s_ laughter ringing in his mind, can feel _Satanael’s_ unwavering presence. Amused and proud of his reminder, his growth.

Sweet. A bitter situation, and a sweet resolution.

Like dark chocolate.

 _Raoul_ appears.

“Let’s go,” Akira agrees, and takes Ryuji’s hand.

***

They’re in the garden of Eden, fighting, and it’s ridiculously _difficult_ \-- it’s tedious, it’s exhausting, but it’s _something_.

It’s not until Maruki fuses himself into _Adam Kadmon_ , that it becomes impossible.

But as Ryuji said before, they’re fighting for something, not everything-- and Akira takes that to heart to push himself to find another way.

“ _I found his weakness_ ,” Futaba cries over the comm, and he strains to listen, even as he feels his body gets battered every step of the way. “ _It’s his head! But you guys won’t be able to do anything if his hands are free!”_

“Then we just have to stop his hand then,” Ann pipes up, dancing away from a blast.

Akira can hear Akechi snort. “And let Joker take the headshot? I suppose I’ll allow it.”

“Allow it? Very bold of someone to say as such, especially when that someone is wearing 15 belts with no shame,” Yusuke remarks, voice haggard but no less snotty, and despite the situation, the team begins to hoot, Akechi’s nasty cursing drowned over the laughter, and Akira _has_ to join in because this is _his_ team, and he’s so _happy_.

“We got this, Joker,” he hears Ryuji, and he turns, meeting eyes. Ryuji nods back, mouth quirked into a grin, lightning blazing around him. He’s a storm in the making, and Akira _adores_ him. “We’ll hold him off to give you that chance. A chance for something, yeah?”

And Akira grins back, readies his gun. “For something.”

The battle continues, and despite Maruki’s efforts, it culminates into a blow held back by the Phantom Thieves, light and fire raging around them, and they still do not yield.

Akira aims, and pulls the trigger.

 _Adam Kadmon_ is destroyed, and the palace begins its collapse. Morgana, through a spark of hope and imagination and pure spite for the impossible, transforms into a helicopter, and the team piles in, exhausted but _alive_.

Akira makes to follow until he’s pulled back, the Phantom Thieves screaming after him. He looks up, and it’s Maruki again, but alone and human, angry and bitter and on the verge of defeat.

“Get out of here!” Akira tells his friends, and they try to protest, but Morgana-- his faithful companion who, despite his snark and backtalk, always fought for the greater cause-- flies away, helicopter blades whirring in the distance as Akira turns to face what’s left of Maruki in the metaverse.

“Fight me,” Maruki’s saying, looking messy and desperate and _empty_. He raises his fists, body hunched, no more pride.

 _‘Punch him in the face,'_ Ryuji’s words echo in his brain, and Akira tosses his knife, readies his hands.

He’s never really believed in fate-- fought to break destiny’s chains, called bullshit on it, raged and screamed every step of the way. But in this moment where he’s facing a mad therapist with only his two fists?

It’s poetry.

It’s _something_.

***

He wakes up in juvenile detention and wonders if everything had been a dream.

Akira checks the date with the guards and it’s February 4th, but he’s apparently been in this prison since Christmas. 

He isn’t sure what hurts more-- that the third semester had just been a dream, or that nothing seemed to have _changed._

And Akira’s strong, but he’s also very _weak_ , he’s only human. He loses faith.

Even when Sae visits, telling him how his friends are doing everything to help him break free-- Akira doesn’t have the strength to fully believe her. Doesn’t have the strength to believe in himself.

In his free time, after spending hours being interrogated left and right by adults who don’t give two shits besides their own hides-- he sleeps. Never long enough to dream-- he can’t handle that anymore. But long enough to lose time.

And suddenly, it’s February 13th, and he’s blinking past the sunlight, in civilian clothes, bag in hand. Sojiro waits for him outside his car, smiling.

He’s in the vehicle, and it’s familiar, like the first time last year when everything began, and Sojiro is speaking, sounding warm and pleased. Mentions that he’s glad to see him, even though he’s genuinely sad Akira’s going to have to go back to his hometown. Akira tries to listen but nothing _sticks_ . He stares outside the window, taking in the sights, the sunlight, the _colors_ \-- and it all just feels like a dream.

He doesn’t feel real. 

And he doesn’t really care.

Car stops and he’s out. It’s Yongen-Jaya, and it’s _home_ , but he’s just a ghost now, wandering its halls.

And everyone knows that ghosts don’t belong in places like _home_. That’s why he’s leaving, back to Inaba, the place that started it all. Not home. Not anymore.

Sojiro leads the way and they enter LeBlanc. He finds himself seated at the counter, and Sojiro mutters something about getting a smoke, but that the rest are coming, Akira shouldn’t worry.

The rest?

Bell dings, door opens, and he’s slow but Akira still turns to see who it is.

Ryuji. Out of breath, chest heaving, eyes wide, the sun behind his back illuminating him to the point it’s almost blinding-- and he’s always been the first in everything, first to jump into battle, first to react, first to protect, first to be by Akira’s side. It makes sense that even here, he’d be the first to arrive.

He looks so damn _familiar,_ all that blond hair and wide brown eyes, yet a total stranger, older with a tired mouth-- and something in Akira _aches_ at the sight of his best friend. The dreamworld feels like he saw Ryuji just last week-- but his physical body feels like it’s been a lifetime. 

Ryuji looks like a dream, and Akira isn’t sure if he’s strong enough this time to deny that lie.

“Akira,” Ryuji says, lips shaping each consonant and vowel as if it’s a song, and Akira _sways_ into it, wanting to be lured but afraid of the hidden hook. 

“Hey,” is all he can think to say, and he feels floaty-- like his body didn’t belong to him, but he’s trying to anchor himself back, please, please let him have this.

Ryuji’s face crumbles and Akira’s about to ask what’s wrong, he never wants to see that kind of expression on his friend’s face again-- but Ryuji moves and suddenly he’s hugging him, Akira useless and still in his embrace.

“Shit--” he can hear Ryuji mumble, voice a low vibration against his cheek. “Shit, Akira-- what did they do to you?”

And now he’s waking up from a long sleep, slow and lethargic, but sure as the sun rises, and Akira can’t help it, he has to make sure, so he leans back, missing the warmth but he _has to make sure_. “Is this real?” he asks, and the furrow between Ryuji’s eyes pinches more, his mouth trembles, but he answers just as certain, “ _Yes_.”

That’s when Akira raises his arms and wraps them around his friend, sinks into Ryuji’s presence, his warmth and smell and sheer _being_ , and he’s slammed back into his body, everything feeling stark and bare in a way that prison couldn’t offer him-- and it’s _real_ , it’s real, he’s back, he’s out now.

It’s not until everyone else arrives, and they’re talking and smiling at him and he smiles back-- and Sojiro sets a plate of curry in front of him-- that the dam breaks. 

Akira peers at the plate, almost alien in his eyes now, but it smells like home and he takes a bite. Another. And another. He doesn’t notice the tears welling up until his vision blurs, and the curry taste more salty and damp; Sojiro places a warm hand on his shoulder, grounding, Ryuji leans against his side, warm and solid, and his team behind him, real and _tangible_ to be perceived-- and he shatters silently.

Hands reach out, supporting him as he crumples into the plate, and he tries to shovel more food in, but the tears won’t stop.

“We’re here,” he hears Futaba say, her voice just as wet and broken. “You’re home.”

The others express their assent, all crowding close, and he wants to hide but he wants to stay most of all so he melts into their hold, and takes in his family.

He’s home.

***

It’s Valentine's day and it’s just him, Ryuji, Yusuke, Sojiro, and even Mishima in LeBlanc.

After a day of staying with Akira constantly, even having a sleepover, the girls grudgingly went their ways to celebrate the holiday, leaving him to rest a bit before the inevitable meet up again.

But it’s Valentine’s Day, Ryuji was still worried, and as a result, announced that a “Guys’ Night” was needed to cheer things up for Akira.

The boys had gathered with drinks and snacks as Sojiro attempted to impart ‘girl advice’ on them-- but Ryuji had laughed, Akira pointed out Sojiro’s own devotion to one woman his whole life being hypocritical to his words, and Yusuke requested more food with Mishima backing him, loudly making his intentions known.

Akira and Ryuji walk out, choosing to loiter in front of LeBlanc as the door closes softly behind them. Yusuke and Mishima’s voices are raised in an attempt to argue with Sojiro, Morgana watching the whole deal wryly as Sojiro exclaims something back.

Akira’s smiling, and he’s content, breathing in the night chill with Ryuji at his side.

“You feelin’ a little better?”

Akira hums a little at the question, but nods. “Yeah.” And it’s the truth.

Ryuji makes a pleased noise, shuffling, and Akira turns to smile at him but suddenly a hand is thrust into his face.

A lone chocolate piece lays in Ryuji’s palm, and Akira blinks.

“It’s for you,” Ryuji mutters, pouting a little as he glances away. “Felt bad that you didn’t have any girl to give you chocolate, so I decided to volunteer. Lady in the convenience store gave it to me, so I’m giving it to you. You’re welcome.”

Akira can feel heat bloom over his face, feel his heart skip a little because even if that third semester had been a _dream_ , his feelings for his best friend weren’t, and he’s grateful for that reality.

“What,” he tries to bluff, hide his embarrassment but feeling a little hopeful. He decides to push his luck as he takes the chocolate, fingers lingering on Ryuji’s palm. “Is this a confession?”

“Wha-- oh, hell no!” Ryuji exclaims, flinching back, and Akira inwardly asks why God had forsaken him.

Then again, he _did_ shoot the equivalent of God in the face a few months back, so. Divine karma, he guesses. 

“-- go back?”

Akira blinks at the tail end of the question, shaken out of his musings. “What?”

“I said,” Ryuji says, and his tone shifts the mood from contentment to a sudden somberness. Hair rising on his neck, Akira braces for the impact. “You still gotta go back, right? To your parents?”

Ah. There it is.

He didn’t want to be reminded of the inevitability. He _just_ refound his home, god _dammit_ , and now he has to leave? 

Akira digs his nails into his leg, trying to will himself to focus, to not break because this didn’t need to be more painful than what he was feeling.

“Yeah,” he says, lightly. “It’s not ‘til next month though, so we still have time.” He smiles at Ryuji, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “We can go fishing at that place you like so much.”

“The fishing spot isn’t even open when it’s this cold,” Ryuji says distractedly. He frowns, and his face looks distant, unreadable. The eye of the storm: unavoidable carnage, but a moment of calm. “A month…”

“We have time,” Akira promises, the feeling of desperation rising up in him somehow. He feels like if he makes a wrong move-- says the wrong thing, something was going to break. But he’s never been good at talking about things that truly mattered-- did he think he could stop the tides now? “Ryuji…”

“I gotta go, man,” Ryuji says suddenly. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and all Akira can do is watch whatever between them assemble new fractures. “Stay warm, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

He walks away and Akira’s once again watching his back recede.

What did these past few months mean, all that dreaming and fighting-- if everything ended the same?

He takes Ryuji’s chocolate, unfurls it with shaky fingers. Puts the candy in his mouth.

Bitter-sweet.

***

“I’m moving.”

Akira feels his whole world collapse.

Ryuji shuffles, tapping his foot. Nervous. But his face is set, eyes firm in a way that’s always shown his stubbornness. “I’ve been thinking long and hard but… I think it’s really time for us to move on. From the Phantom Thieves.”

Murmuring erupts in the group, and Ann steps forward, shoulders squared. “I agree,” she says. She looks anxious, but the same stubbornness shines in her eyes. Blonde duo at each others’ back, always. “I’m transferring schools, actually. So this was...really good timing.”

“What brought this on?” Everyone stops at Akira’s question, but he doesn’t _care_ \-- he’s more intent on _why_ this was happening. Akira only has a week left before he goes back-- he’s spent the past month trying to catch up in school, and visiting everyone, making the most of his time. Ryuji’s been largely absent, citing personal business as his excuse, and Akira’s tried to be respectful, wanting Ryuji to come forward when he felt ready to talk.

Akira just didn’t expect his friend to ask for a group meeting out of nowhere, and then the dropping of a news-bomb. 

Ryuji bites his lip, and despite his trepidation, Akira just wants to reach out, soothe the gesture, maybe have a taste of his own-- but he tamps down any and all distracting thoughts to listen.

“We can’t do this forever,” Ryuji points out. He scuffs his shoe on the floor of Akira’s-- _Sojiro’s_ attic room. “The metaverse is gone so… what’s next, right?”

“And why does it mean you have to move?” Akira’s unsure on why he’s even arguing-- _he’s_ moving away after all. But it felt wrong. It felt wrong that _Ryuji_ wanted to move, when his place was in Tokyo, here. Akira didn’t realize how much he depended on Ryuji to hold the team together, hold the fort down, when Akira leaves, that now when Ryuji wants to go...what’s left?

How will Akira return, if everyone’s gone? And it looks like… they were all splintering.

“I wasn’t growing during the whole Kamoshida thing,” Ryuji explains distantly. His hands fidget, picking at a stray thread on his jacket. “And I definitely grew as a Phantom Thief. Learned a lot, fought a lot. For all the good things.” He takes a breath, lets it out, and Akira follows the movement, helpless to the riptide of the conversation. “And it’s nice. I don’t regret it. But I gotta be realistic. For myself, for my mom. For the future. I want to take everything I learned in the metaverse and bring it out here… but I can’t do that, if I’m… constantly stuck in one place, you know?

“I gotta move on.”

Akira watches as the family he fought so hard for breaks apart before his eyes.

***

Inaba looks the same. Feels the same. Smells the same. Sounds the same.

Akira isn’t the same.

He’s not the same boy that got arrested a year ago, but he’s also not the same boy that left Tokyo a few months ago.

He’s afraid that he might be changing for the worst. 

He barely had time at the end with his friends, barely had time to say goodbye when the agents tried to follow him. His friends went to distract them-- and Maruki Takuto of all people, apparently having had a change of heart, appeared, and drove him to the train station in the opposite way as a taxi driver.

Akira did catch a glimpse of his team at the end-- as the train pulls away and he’s straining for one last goodbye. They rest on the platform, waving, mouths open in shouts but soundless from the distance. 

Ryuji only stood by, hands in pocket, face unreadable.

Akira wasn’t made for heartbreak like this.

He returns to Inaba, to more of the same. And if he felt like a ghost in Yogen-Jaya when he received his freedom, it’s nothing to the feeling of a graveyard in his own family home.

His parents don’t know what to do with him, and he doesn’t know what to do with them. It’s a stalemate in interaction. 

Akira wants to have the will to resent them-- for not fighting for him during the arrest, for sending him away to a stranger-- even if it ultimately became one of the most meaningful bonds he’s ever had. He paid back by not calling, ignoring their messages, moving on.

And now he’s back here.

He understands their decision back then in a distant way. Can be sympathetic about that. But the deeper part of himself, the one that summoned flames and curses and ripped off the mask-- wants to return to Tokyo, the space he’s made for himself.

Not in this house, where he loses his voice and walks like the dead while his parents stay silent, unsure on how to reach out.

And this time, he doesn’t have Morgana to help guide him. Futaba needed the personification of hope’s help more than Akira did. The selfish worst part of him wishes he had taken Morgana back to Inaba-- but the better part that loves pain, apparently, stands by his ultimate decision.

But even if he somehow returned to Tokyo… the team, his _friends_ , aren’t together anymore. Even the text messages have died down in frequency-- the logical part of his mind whispers personal business, exams, university-- but the selfish part whispers that the team has truly moved on.

Some days, he regrets not staying in Maruki’s dreamworld. At least that world made sense-- made sense in his efforts in keeping the bonds he fought so hard for, everyone happy and alive. Even if it had been an empty world.

But most days, he knows that what he did was right, no matter how painful. So Akira keeps his head down. Goes to school, goes home. Does his homework, does his chores. Stays low.

Akira never realized how much he thrives in conflict, the desire to _fight_ so strong, it pushed him past his limits to achieve amazing feats. Now that there’s nothing to fight for, he’s… lost. 

It’s always been difficult to fight for himself.

He wishes he was stronger, but he’s so _tired_ . So he continues on living, day by day. That’s all he _can_ do now. And maybe. It’s enough.

‘ _It_ _’s something,’_ he thinks on Ryuji’s words, heartsick. Something. Not everything, but something. And it’s enough for now.

“Akira…?” He pauses, almost unable to recognize his own name because when was the last time someone said it in a way that felt familiar? His mother has a hand poised to knock on his bedroom door, and he takes her in: long-limbed, taller than his father by a few centimeters, same gray eyes and facial features to Akira. Her hair was iron straight though, and that was the main difference that set him and her apart.

“Yes?” Akira’s polite. Can be.

His mother smiles, and it looks odd-- she wasn’t the smiling type, but he knew deep down despite that, she was loyal through and through. She may not have fought for him during the arrest, but she didn’t let him disappear into the system, didn’t let him disappear completely in Tokyo, with her daily check ups and correspondence with Sojiro.

“I was wondering,” she begins, slow but sure, “if you would like to accompany your father and I to Aiya’s?”

He doesn’t see why he should refuse. “Of course.”

She smiles again, and it’s unfamiliar but...it’s different. It’s good. It’s something. He takes it to heart, and prepares to leave.

They go to Aiya’s, and he’s ready to open the door for them, but his father waves him to go ahead, as they’re trying to find his misplaced something-- and won’t Akira be a good son and go save them some seats?

Akira shrugs, not thinking too much of it, opens the door-- and suddenly he gets a faceful of confetti and a roomful of shouts and cheering.

“ _Akira_ !” Futaba shrieks, and he’s confounded, eyes wide, as his _friends_ launch forward, confetti still floating as they all reach for him.

He reaches _back_ , and they’re laughing now, he’s warm, it’s a mess of limbs, but he can _breathe_ again. Everyone’s eyes are a little wet, but it’s okay, he’s _okay_ \-- and suddenly there’s a familiar arm around his shoulders and he looks over to meet Ryuji’s wide, crooked grin straight on, blinding.

“Hey there, troublemaker,” Ryuji greets, eyes crinkled, and Akira nearly collapses at the sight. “You been keeping outta trouble since we last saw you?”

“I should ask _you_ that,” Akira retorts, and Ryuji throws his head back to _laugh_. Everything he held inside for the past 2 months-- _loosens_ , gives way, and suddenly, just by hearing one of his favorite sounds in the world-- _Ryuji’s laugh_ \-- seeing his favorite people, his team, his _family_ \-- suddenly everything felt like it was going to be okay.

He’s _home_ now.

The diner door opens, and he hears Haru make a soft noise. “Ah, Akira's parents are here. Mako-chan, the papers!”

His team peels away from him, and before he can miss the warmth, Ryuji comes back close to his side, near enough for Akira to feel the heat rising from the other boy. The group turns, and his parents stand before them, identical faces of pleasant surprise and mild bewilderment.

“We didn’t know you had made such good friends in Tokyo,” his mother says. To his astonishment, she reaches out, takes a light hold of his father’s elbow, the latter reaching back to hold on: open affection, something almost unheard of in the household. “They contacted us asking to make a case for you.”

His father coughs, brusque, but awkward. “We’re willing to listen,” he says, and for once, since the arrest and even after Akira had returned, his eyes firmly meet Akira’s own. “They wanted to make a deal.”

His father, always the businessman; it was how he operated in both professional and personal life. If Akira took after his mother in temperament and appearance, he takes after his father in social skills.

Now, Akira thinks, maybe he wasn’t the only one that’s changed in the past year.

“We do,” Makoto speaks up, and suddenly she’s business-like as well, her eyes taking on a shrewd glint. She pulls out a binder, and he stares at how neatly organized yet bulky it is. “We’re here to vouch on Akira’s behalf.”

What…?

Yusuke nods. “This is not a light matter, we understand. With summer being here, it seems almost too forward to ask if he can return with us to Tokyo.” He lifts his chin, proud as the day Akira saw him awaken to _Goemon_. “But we would be amiss to be separated from our friend again.”

“We have so much to say!” Haru agrees, and her tone is sweet while her smile is lethal. “Akira-kun is our most trusted companion. It would be an honor to speak on his behalf, as he has on ours.”

He’s not the only one stunned by his teammates’ words, going from the look on his parents’ faces.

“Well,” his mother murmurs. “It’s always a pleasure to hear my son’s achievements, especially in the year we haven’t seen him.” She nods to Akira, curt. “Akira, why don’t you take a long walk?”

“But,” Akira starts, getting steadily more confused as the seconds tick by, “my friends are here--”

“I’ll go with you.”

Akira blinks owlishly as Ryuji nudges him towards the exit, his parents moving out of the way with matching small smiles. Ryuji turns to them, earnest. “I don’t have as much to say as the rest of the team, so I’ll just say my piece now,” he begins, steady. He takes a breath, and squares up. “When I’m by Akira’s side… I feel free. And that honestly changed my life. Inspired me to want to be _better_ for the world around me. I… just want him to feel the same way.” With one last nod, he tugs Akira outside, and Akira follows, feeling _undone_.

The door to the diner closes behind them and Ryuji lets go of his wrist. Akira misses the contact immediately but struggles to right himself, trailing after as the other boy leads.

“I’ll take you to the van since Morgana is there and everything,” Ryuji offers, as way of an explanation.

“Van?” Akira questions, matching Ryuji’s pace alongside him. His mind’s still whirling, but he’s taking a step at a time. 

Ryuji snorts. “Yeah, dude. A van. How else would we have gotten here? Our feet?”  
  
“I mean, you _are_ the track star here, so what do I know,” Akira teases, and it garners a light shove for his troubles. They grin at each other, but as if realizing himself, Ryuji flushes and looks away. And he shouldn’t be so bold-- he just got his friends back in his arms now-- but Akira’s riding the happiness high, and deeper down, the heartache at Ryuji’s avoidance and their ripped goodbye near the end is a strong pull that wants him to _push_ , to prod, to ask questions until Ryuji _looks_. “I make you feel free, huh?”

“I’ve said it before, you know,” Ryuji mutters, eyes straight ahead. “Not my fault that you weren’t listenin’.”

“But you mean it,” Akira presses, knowing the answer but _needing_ to hear it again-- to be certain, to soothe any and all doubts he has because he’s a lot of things, but believing in himself at his worst is not one of them-- and Ryuji always delivers, with a long-suffering sigh eased by a smile and a soft, “Yeah.”

The van comes into view, parked on the curb near the south end of the district.

“What brought on all of this?” Akira asks, sudden enough to make Ryuji freeze. He doesn’t want to push his luck, but he does it anyway-- he’s never been one to back down, not when he’s curious, not when he _can_ push. “Why are you guys here?”

They’re at the van now, but that doesn’t distract Ryuji from regarding him incredulously. “You’re our friend? We wanted to convince your parents to let you come back to Tokyo, man, can’t do that if we’re not here. ”

“I thought you said we all should move on,” Akira says, firm, but he’s scared-- he can’t seem to stop, he needs to _know_. “You’re the one that proposed the idea in the first place.”

“What-- dude. Are you serious right now?” Ryuji’s voice is laced with an edge reminiscent of the first time Akira met him in the rain-- but his face is fractured, broken light shining through. “What does moving on have to do with not being friends anymore? I said we should move on from the _Phantom Thieves_. We couldn’t stay like that forever-- we had to do something different. Doesn’t mean we just stop being friends or anything like that, what the hell.”

“Then why did you avoid me in that last month, after Valentine’s?” It’s more a demand than a question, and he squares off to Ryuji against the vehicle, taking note on how Ryuji’s red tank top is a stark contrast against the van's light color. “You _left_ that night-- and suddenly it’s a week before I leave and you ask to meet, but it’s with the team-- then you drop the news that you were _moving_. What else was I supposed to think?”

“It wasn’t about you!” Ryuji snaps, bristling, but just as quick he dies down, hunching back, looking away. “It was me, okay? I just. Needed time to think. Because you were leaving, and I wasn’t ready for that-- but I also couldn’t handle the fact that despite everything, it felt like I'm the one that hadn't _changed_.” He looks up now, eyes anguished. “It wasn't all those months fighting in the metaverse that opened my eyes. Or fighting in the dreamworld, or even defeating a whole ass god.

"It was you after prison, sitting in LeBlanc and looking like you weren't _alive_." 

Akira is struck silent at the admission. Ryuji continues, fingers thrumming against his leg, staccato rhythm. “It just pissed me off. What was the point of everything, all those battles, all those talks and victories-- if it only ended with you taking everything on without help? If we depended on you so much, you couldn’t ask for help?”

“It wasn’t yours or anyone’s fault--”

“I know it wasn’t.” Ryuji’s voice was firm. “But it wasn’t yours either. I… I wasn’t avoiding you on purpose. I’m not lying when I said I needed the time to think. Seeing you like that when you came back… it hit me then and there how much I’ve depended on you. How just being by your side wasn’t _enough_ , not if it didn’t _change_ anything-- and you know, I didn’t even realize how much I took you for granted until I realized I couldn’t imagine life without you. And that ain’t right, not for you, and not for me. You deserved better. And I wanted to be better. For you and me.”

“What-- so you just _decided_ all of this on your own?” Akira’s found his voice now, and it wasn’t happy. All those months being apart, all that silent heartbreak-- and for what? For what? “You were already good enough-- you didn’t even tell me about any of this. And you just-- you still avoided me, you barely said goodbye--”

“Bro, you were leaving-- and you just got out of prison. You think I was going to bother you even more when you were already going through so much? I had to _work_ to wrap my head around not being next to you physically anymore! And it turned out, even if I’m not with you in person, I still want to be with you by your side in spirit or whatever.”

“And it took you _months_ to come to think about all of this? Are you kidding me?”

“Look man, I’m not like you or the others. If it’s something I can’t solve right away, you bet it’s going to take me a long ass time to figure it out.”

“Yeah, a ‘long ass time’ is an understatement.” He’s not bitter. At all.

Ryuji gives him an accusing look. “Wow, says the person that keeps everything to himself all the time, every hour!”

“I thought you hated me,” Akira shouts, and that stops Ryuji dead in his tracks. “I couldn’t understand why we were so good-- and then we weren’t anymore.”

“What-- _Akira_ , I could _never_ hate you, what are you saying?” Ryuji cries, adamant. He makes an aborted move forward, but stops, fists clenched at his sides. “I was never planning to say goodbye, man, you gotta believe me. I was always, _always_ going to come back to you. To be honest, I was scared _you_ were going to leave, or get too far ahead-- so I pushed myself to figure shit out, just so I can work to catch up to you. Because I promised you, promised myself that my place? Was by your side.”

"Never took you as someone who'd be scared," Akira says, but it's a weak jab, and Ryuji knows it, judging by the frown he receives.

"Well duh," Ryuji says. "I'll always be scared about losing someone important to me. And you...you're more than important." He bites his lips, a nervous tic, but doesn't look away from Akira's eyes as he deals the final blow. "You're home. And I wanna be home to you, too. If you want. If you'll have me."

Akira _feels_ his heart stop, restart, and beat back to _life_. This was just... it's just bro talk, right? Just a joke about calling each other _home_... haha, unless? 

"What," he says, tries to smirk it off but his blood is a raging river in his ears, "you saying I stole your heart or something?"

Ryuji doesn't even have the _decency_ to hesitate. "Yeah." He flushes pink, and Akira watches almost hypnotically as the color travels from face to throat. 

"Oh?" Akira sounds choked, and Ryuji glares.

"Stop teasing, you bastard." Ryuji looks away, embarrassed, tries to regain footing as he says, "I gave you _chocolate_ , and you still think this is a prank? I want my candy back."

"No take backs," Akira says automatically, and that's just-- the last straw.

His lips twitch, mirroring Ryuji's and within a beat, they're both spilling into raucous laughter because this shit is so _surreal_ , all the heartache and loneliness and misunderstandings that felt larger than the world-- reduced to mere chocolate with a few words and laughter. In his heart, Akira thinks this is what freedom _feels_ like.

"I just-- can't believe that we went through 3 months of this bullshit," Akira says finally, once they've calmed down.

"Look I never said I was smart."

"It's not about being smart, it's about how you decided all of this on your own without telling me!"

"That is so rich coming from you," Ryuji shoots back, but he's grinning, open, eyes crinkled- and it's for _Akira._ He laughs softly, and tilts his head, expression soft. "Guess we're a match then, huh. Gotta hold each other accountable and all that."

Akira may have once been the leader of a group of well- meaning criminals, faced a god, and dismantled a whole other plane of existence for the safety of humanity. But he was also only a teenage boy with a devoted heart, and when facing a soft-limbed Ryuji grinning and just so fucking _happy_ , yeah, Akira can only take so much. 

Ryuji never sees it coming.

Akira strides forward, and in one swift movement, yanks Ryuji to him, mouth angled to meet Ryuji's lips. It's a soft press, chaste and fragile, and were it not for his heartbeat drumming up a storm behind his ribs, Akira would think he's dreaming. Ryuji's body is a firm line against his, sun-warm and solid, and unfamiliar in a nostalgic way-- like forgetting the words to a favorite song, knowing it's within reach, but humming being the only answer for now. He wants Ryuji to be his top greatest hit today, tomorrow, forever. 

Ryuji huffs a shocked breath and Akira is brought violently back to the present. 

He disconnects, meeting wide brown eyes, feeling his blood freeze. Did Akira just…?

They're both still as stone, Akira unsure on how the _fuck_ he should proceed, when Ryuji opens his mouth. "Huh." He sounds considering. "Making decisions without me again, aren't you."

Akira's heart plummets, whole world collapsing again because _after everything Akira just can't seem to learn, goddammit, how did he misread a situation so bad--_ tries to step back, put some distance, but Ryuji shifts, hands latching around Akira's shoulders. 

Ryuji waits until Akira finally has the courage to meet his gaze before smiling. Crooked grin. "Good thing I like this decision."

And then _he's_ the one pulling Akira close and fast, and he's inexperienced, if Akira went by the painful clack of their teeth together-- but then it softens, it moves, Ryuji's lips an answering call to Akira's own and it's the _best damn kiss in the world,_ Akira's sure of it. 

He's making desperate noises, and Ryuji just swallows it up as it comes, catching him when he falls. He can feel Ryuji's _smile_ in their kiss, and that lit something in Akira to shove, backing Ryuji hard against the van, one hand cushioning blond hair, a soft balm, while the other hand gripped ironclad at Ryuji's waist, feeling bones _grind_ at the pressure. He tears away from Ryuji's mouth, takes in how wicked red his lips have become, the glazed look in big brown eyes, and absolute _pride_ rises in him at the sight, reminding him of the moment he tore his mask off a year ago. Akira moves, lips trailing from the corner of Ryuji's mouth, to his cheek, to the space where jaw meets ear, and lightly bites-- a noise erupts from Ryuji's throat, pitched in wanting, a new favorite sound for Akira to catalog, to dissect and rehear again and again later, just for him-- and he shoves a knee in between, wanting to press closer, _be_ closer, and nothing can stop them now--

"Are you _serious?_ ! Right in front of my _van?!"_

In a flash they’re wrenched apart, faces mortified and red as Morgana glares at them from the open van window.

“I heard you two screeching at one another a _mile_ away-- and you know, I thought you needed it, to air it all out and everything-- and I was so _polite_. But I can’t even sit minding my own business without you guys ruining it with your-- ugh!” Morgana gags, exaggerated and rude. “Get a room, not my van-- you uncultured swines!”

“I’m going to punt you--” Ryuji tries to stutter out, face flaming, while Akira tries to interject, “Good tip. Let’s go back to my house, Ryuji--”

He gets a shove for his efforts, catches Ryuji’s eye in the same breath, and then they’re both cracking up, falling into each other out of laughter and sheer _joy_ as Morgana screams in the background.

Ryuji’s hand slid into his, grip warm and tight, and in that moment, everything feels _right_.

And Akira does what he's done every time: he takes Ryuji's hand, and holds on.

***

"Dude, hurry up," Ryuji says. "The team's been waiting for a while, and you don't want your parents to change their minds, do you?"

"Of course not," Akira huffs, trying to be casual but _how can he when right behind him, Ryuji is lounging on his bed like he belonged there or something_. He throws more clothes in the duffle, feeling electricity flutter under his skin at the prospects of a different _future_ he is about to undertake.

Through the efforts of the team waxing poetry about his good character and deeds, they managed to convince Akira's parents to at least let him go on the road trip with them. Akira's mom had gently hugged him-- a different and pleasant surprise-- promising him that once he came back from his vacation, she and his father would have an answer for him in regards to his future plans and living arrangements. But knowing his team and having full faith in them, Akira's got a good feeling about all of this, and he _can't stop smiling_.

"Hey," he hears Ryuji say, and he hums to show his attention. "When did you realize you liked me?"

Akira freezes, not expecting the question. He turns to look at Ryuji, and his best friend-- boyfriend? best everything-- quirk an eyebrow in confusion. "What," Ryuji says, and he sounds a little nervous, "You don't like me?"

He has to snort at that. "Yeah, that's right. Me making out with you against a van totally means I don't like you. I'm about to rip your shirt apart just to really show you how much I dislike you."

"Okay Mister Sassypants, I get it, jeez, just making sure is all. But for real... my question still stands."

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"What are we, 5?" Akira shakes his head, but he feels so damn _fond_. "It was... when we were about to go fight Maruki," he says, slow but no less intent. "You gave me chocolate, and we kept laughing and smiling and... I just wanted to keep looking at you. You just..." he feels his cheeks warm, but continues. "You made sense, when everything in the world didn't."

"I knew it," Ryuji breathes. "It _was_ the chocolate." Akira lobs a bunched up sock at him and Ryuji swats it away, laughing. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"

"Your turn," Akira says, trying to glare him into complying but it just makes Ryuji giggle harder. "I can't believe I fell for your dork ass."

"Hey! It's a nice ass!" Ryuji shoots back, but then his face softens, eyes crinkling in the way Akira adores. "I think I've liked you for a while, man. I can't... pinpoint when, not like you." He huffs a laugh, and Akira wants to drink that noise, wants to keep it. He looks up, eyes so damn _earnest_ , it was almost painful. "But I finally _got_ it when you came back. When I realized I missed you so goddamn much when you were gone, but missed you the same when you were right in front of me. When you finally smiled as you ate Boss' curry-- and I just... It was home. There was no place I'd rather be, than by your side."

Akira drops the duffle, thinking no one has the right to judge him jumping Ryuji in _his_ bed, because 1) he is a weak, weak man with a soft heart, but also 2) the team can afford to wait a _little_ while longer.

***

"Sumire wanted us to let you know that she misses you, and that she'd be here were it not for a gymnastics training camp."

Akira starts, feeling guilty for having forgotten her in the thick of things, but not denying the warmth that floods him knowing she's safe and sound and _better_. Safe and sound... He swallows past the lump, mustering a smile. "I miss her, too," he says, sincere. "I'll text her now, actually."

He shuffles in the van seat to reach for his cellphone, elbowing Ryuji deliberately (gently though, he wasn't _that_ mean) just to have the other boy swat at him half-heartedly. 

"Laugh now, you little shit," Ryuji says, grudgingly fond. Then he makes a considering noise. "Also, incoming message."

"What do you mean--" Akira starts to say, when his phone buzzes. He looks at it, then glances at Ryuji and everyone else in the van. They were conveniently looking elsewhere, trying to be inconspicuous. Suspicion obviously piqued, Akira decides to check the message-- and nearly drops his phone out of _sheer shock_.

A familiar detective smirks back from a selfie, holding a peace sign with the text caption saying: _Surprise, bitch. Thought you saw the last of me?_

"What-- how-- _when_?" Akira is demanding, eyes wide, feeling everything in him-- all the guilt, regret, sadness-- fucking get obliterated by _relief_. He sags in his seat, unable to have control of his own limbs, and Ryuji holds him up-- catching him when he falls.

"We went to search for him when the metaverse finally collapsed and you were in juvenile detention," Futaba explains, eyes glinting. "And hoo boy, ole Akechi 'plesant-boy' here was conked out in his mess of an apartment. It was kinda funny, to be honest, even when he started to wave his gun around." She shakes her head. "I thought I was a Featherman fan, but he takes it to a whole new level. Weeb shit."

"That's like the pot calling the kettle black," Akira says automatically. He raises a hand, notices it shaking. Ryuji reaches out, gently takes it in a firm grip. Counts of 5, 4, 3...

"It's okay, Akira," Ryuji says, promises. And Akira believes him. "We're all okay. That reality we fought so hard for?" He grins, crooked smile and Akira _has_ to answer back with a grin of his own. "It's real. It's here. And it's ours."

And Akira _laughs_ , unable to contain his joy, his relief, his sheer adoration for his found _family_. He grips Ryuji's hand, feeling anchored and yet so _free._

The future was so bright, and he's looking forward to seeing how it comes.

He's so happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Persona 5 Scramble? Oh, you mean Persona 5 Shippuden.
> 
> Thank you for making it this far!
> 
> Reviews and/or kudos are always appreciated!


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